Though your heads are bowed,
 
won’t you sing me one last song,
 
fading sunflowers?

 
 

Battered by the wind,
 
the sunflowers still manage
 
to sing blooming songs.

 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
sing a cactus-blossom song
 
to ease my sorrow!

 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
do you know a summer song
 
to ease my sorrow?

 
 

white bowl, purple plums,
 
song sparrow at my window—
 
kitchen pilgrimage

 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
I hope yours is the first song
 
on the first of June.

 
 

With pen and paper
 
a few days after Easter,
 
I wait for a song.

 
 
 

A late-winter rain
 
dampens the song of the dove—
 
I pack my suitcase.

 
 
 

Winter morning song—
 
water in the teakettle
 
gurgles merrily.

 
 
 

The barista hums
 
while brewing my espresso—
 
winter-morning song.